


Good

by helvel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Painful Sex, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: Dutch relies on him, and that’s the only kind of good Arthur knows how to be.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 33
Kudos: 101





	Good

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur/Dutch is my favourite pairing but I can never write it as dark as I want it to be. Here’s an attempt :(
> 
> Please be warned that even though the sex in this fic isn’t dub/non con, Arthur is not having a good time during it.

Good folk, bad folk – the world punishes everyone just the same, and Arthur knows he’s more deserving than most. He ain’t a good man, ain’t sure how to be. Dutch tells him what’s right, tells him what they’re fighting for, and it still don’t make much sense to Arthur, but when Dutch’s warm hand settles on the back of his neck to pull him close and say he’s proud, things just makes sense in that moment.

Dutch’s hands are just as warm as they move down the front of Arthur’s shirt, slowly working open the buttons. It’s so different than the almost-peace Dutch’s touch usually grants him, leaves him shaking and too hot, but Dutch stops him when he tries to shrug out of his suspenders. Dutch says he wants the honors, as he takes them down himself. His hands run down Arthur’s arms over his sleeves, feeling the muscles beneath. Arthur’s so strong for him, so powerful, and it’s all for Dutch, isn’t it? Arthur doesn’t know how to reply - can’t do much more than nod. His face is burning, torn between embarrassment and the desperate desire to have Dutch’s hands all over him. He lets Dutch undress him slowly, until Arthur is standing naked before him, cock at full attention.

Frantic energy burns beneath Arthur’s skin, like he just might vibrate out of his body without Dutch’s touch keeping him grounded. The slow slide of warm hands running down his flanks nearly overwhelms him. Dutch turns him around, gentles him down onto the bed, until Arthur is on his belly.

The pillow beneath his head smells like cigar smoke and hair pomade – both scents Arthur associates intrinsically with Dutch. Arthur watches over his shoulder as Dutch takes a tin of something from the drawer. It’s gooey on his fingertips, and shiny when Dutch slicks it over his hard cock, glistening in the lantern light, and burning hot when he rests the head against Arthur’s asshole.

Some part of Arthur knows this is how two men fuck each other, but he lets out a huff of laughter, because it’s ridiculous – there’s no way it’s going to fit. He tells Dutch as much. He feels only pressure when Dutch pushes forward, and _I told you so_ is at the tip of Arthur’s tongue. Then whatever Dutch slicked himself with lets the head slip through the tight ring of muscle.

It’s like being split in two. Dutch shushes the pained sounds that Arthur didn’t even know he was making, but Arthur can’t think of anything but the burning ache as Dutch slides deeper into him, and the guilt as Dutch has to tell him again to be quiet.

It’s worse, it’s so much worse when Dutch starts moving. It’s too tight, too much, and Arthur bites down on the pillow just to keep his mouth shut. He barely hears the little sounds Dutch is making behind him, and it’s not until Dutch pulls out and Arthur feels something hot and wet leaking out of him that he realizes what happened. Dutch spent inside him. He made Dutch feel good.

Dutch makes soft, soothing sounds behind him as his hands run over Arthur’s aching ass while Arthur pants and shakes. He almost screams again when Dutch spreads him open and presses a dry finger to his asshole.

“Oh, my boy,” Dutch says, regretful, “I was too rough with you.”

“S’alright,” Arthur manages. He doesn’t want Dutch to think he can’t take it, that he can’t be what Dutch wants him to be.

He’s still trembling when Dutch turns him onto his back, wishing for any way to hide his red face and wet eyes. The shame that twists in his guts when he realizes his own cock has gone soft between his legs is even worse.

Dutch looks at him, then, like he does when he tells Arthur he’s proud, and it’s not so bad at all when Dutch wraps a warm hand around him to stroke him off. 

* * *

Women get swept up in the charisma, the charm, the conviction that radiates from Dutch like the sun. Arthur gets it – knows what they must feel like when Dutch looks at them, in that way that feels like they’re the only one he sees in the world. It’s never long before he tires of them and comes back to Arthur. He always comes back to Arthur.

Dutch relies on him, and that’s the only kind of good Arthur knows how to be. He bites the pillow as Dutch pushes into him and fights to keep quiet, to keep from pulling away or bucking Dutch off. Don’t matter that it hurts. Dutch never seems disappointed when he finds Arthur gone soft after being fucked, anyway, but Arthur wonders how different it would be if he could just enjoy it too. 

* * *

He takes the tin from Dutch’s tent one evening, while Dutch is by the fire with the others, and brings it back to his tent. It’s petroleum jelly inside. He works off his clothes, until he’s laying back on his cot naked. This time when he dips a finger back into the jelly, slick to the touch, he can’t help but flush at the thought of what he’s about to do.

One finger isn’t so uncomfortable as he slides it in, and even two are okay once he gets used to it. Arthur hitches his leg up as he slowly pushes his fingers in and out, trying out the feeling.

It doesn’t take much before it feels good – really good if he can angle his fingers and hit just the right spot. That spot makes his cock twitch and drool on his belly, almost like it’s being touched from the inside, and Arthur has to bite back a whimper. Dutch must have thrust into that same spot a hundred times, but this time, Arthur isn’t going to be too overwhelmed to notice it.

He works himself for as long as he can without shooting off, then dresses again, too aware of how loose and wet he feels inside. He sticks his head out into the cool night air. A lantern glows from within Dutch’s tent. Arthur takes a deep breath.

Dutch is at the makeshift desk in his tent, bent over the papers spread over its surface. He glances up at Arthur when he enters. He looks ragged, Arthur thinks, and his voice is weary when he asks, “What do you want?”

“Just…” Arthur says, awkward. “Just thought you might want some company, is all.”

Dutch watches him for a long moment before he nods, and motions to the shelf. “Bring me a drink, then.”

Arthur gets the whiskey bottle from the shelf, feeling painfully conspicuous with his back to Dutch, like the jelly smeared over his hole might somehow be soaking through the back of his jeans.

He brings the whiskey to Dutch and sets it at the edge of the table. Dutch reaches for it and takes a slow sip, eyes half-lidded as he looks up at Arthur.

“Tell me, Arthur. What should I do about all this?”

Schematics and maps and letters are spread over the table, too detailed for Arthur to be able to focus on right now.

“Dunno,” he says. Dutch turns a wry look on him. 

“Really? Nothing? Come on, Arthur. You can do better than that.”

Arthur’s not the one who makes the plans, he’s better at thinking in the moment. He does just that, and lays a hand on Dutch’s neck the same way Dutch has done to him a hundred times before. 

“I could take your mind off it,” he says.

Dutch leans back in his chair and looks up at Arthur over the edge of the whiskey bottle, considering. 

“How might you do that?” he asks. 

Heat creeps up Arthur’s neck, warming with anticipation and excitement. He’s hard already, and he opens his jeans to show it, having forgone his unders when he redressed. Dutch watches with dark eyes as Arthur take his hand, guides it back so his fingers brush over Arthur’s hole, slick and open. Arthur doesn’t fight the shiver that runs up his spine. But Dutch’s expression crumples, and he draws his hand back as if he touched something vile.

“For God’s sake, Arthur, that’s what you think I want right now?”

The annoyance is plain as day on his face. Arthur hastily tugs his jeans back up. 

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” he mumbles. If only the goddamned ground would split open and swallow Arthur up. He didn’t mean it like that, didn’t mean to make Dutch feel like Arthur wanted to be taken care of while he had enough on his mind already. “M’sorry,” he manages, to a dismissive wave. Arthur lets himself out. 

The jelly has gone sticky and uncomfortable by now, and Arthur returns to his tent to wipe himself down. His cock lays against his thigh like an ugly withered thing. He’s still slick and loose inside, and it’s nearly dawn by the time he finally falls asleep, curled up on his cot and aching in a way that’s so much worse. 


End file.
